A/N: Just a little oneshot that was pretty much screaming at me to write it. Loosely based on Linkin Park's 'What I've Done', but that's mainly because I listened to it like 8 times whilst writing this. We got some definite Style, and mentions of Stendy and K2, and that's pretty much all you need to know. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated, seeing as how I wrote this in about an hour and I'd love any and all opinions.
Enough babbling, enjoy the story
-Amy xx

Lips crushed against lips, tongues fighting for dominance as teeth clashed and hips drew closer. The bed was comfortable, not too soft like another he was familiar with, with none of the pointless, annoyingly slippery silk pillows to contend with. It was just him, Stan Marsh, the bed, and the person who wasn't his fiancé but meant just as much, if not more, to him: His best friend, Kyle Broflovski.
It was stupid what they were doing. Stupid, wrong on so many levels, but it still didn't feel like cheating to him. The hair he was clutching was unfamiliarly curly, trapping his deft fingers in its fiery grip as he clutched it; the hips grinding towards his own were narrow and the exhilarating bulge of obvious arousal chafed against his own, creating a delicious friction that had a moan building in the noirette's throat as he considered the possibility of taking their current moment further. The damage was already done, he figured, and therefore pushing it even more couldn't cause more problems than had already been created the moment Kyle suggested he come over.
It was wedding stress, most likely, coupled with Wendy's insistence that after his proposal they stop having sex until their wedding night. Stan was only twenty three, it had now been six months, and his hormones were driving him crazy, making him look at other women for the first time since he and Wendy had gotten together properly, six years ago.
The lowering of Kyle's hand to just below the small of his back drew Stan out of his musing thoughts. Stan's mouth opened further as he considered complaining, but the raw heat spreading through his body as his best friend's mouth left his own and made its way to his throat quelled his protest. It had definitely been Kyle's fault, Stan's mind screamed at him through the waves of adrenaline crashing through his veins. Confident, familiar Kyle who came out Senior year and never once regretted his decision to do so. Light-hearted, smart Kyle with the well-paid job and the comfortable apartment. Almost-girlishly pretty Kyle with creamy smooth skin, softly vibrant hair, and the biggest emerald eyes framed with long lashes that every girl envied. Kyle, just Kyle, who had been Stan's best friend since they met, who still laughed at Terrance and Phillip, who tried his hardest at everything he did, who wore ridiculously well-cut jeans that emphasised his perfect ass.
Stan's eyes were clenched shut. It was in the forefront of his mind that if he opened them at all, his blame-Kyle defence would crumble to dust. If he opened his eyes, he'd see the boy, the man, that he'd grown up with, who had just had his heart broken by his cheating ex-boyfriend. It was difficult to think of anything other than Kyle, near impossible really, when the man in question was rolling Stan onto his back, straddling his waist, sucking and nipping at his collarbones, letting his hands play with the hem of Stan's tshirt. It was this that brought him back to reality, and his eyes finally shot open. Kyle's bedroom, lit by the flickering GAME OVER screen on the tv, was everything his and Wendy's was not. Theirs was a warm sunny yellow, whilst Kyle's was a cooler, darker, grey and blue affair. Instead of the soft toys, cushions, photographs, and perfume bottles littering every surface, Kyle's room was adorned with assorted colognes, hair styling products, his nerdy ass collection of DC superhero figurines, and just two framed photographs: one of himself and Stan hugging at graduation – which was making Stan cringe inside – and one of himself and Kenny before they broke up – which was making Stan mentally tear up. The look of bliss on Kyle's face looked weak in comparison to the complete happiness on the face of Kyle in the photograph, the Kyle with Kenny's lips on his cheek.
Stan sighed,
'Kyle' he murmured, his voice ringing out loud in the quiet room 'Kyle, we need to stop'
Kyle sat up, still straddling Stan's lap, and pouted gently
'But why, I thought this is what you wanted?'
Stan sighed again, running his hand through his own dark locks and gently pushing on Kyle's shoulders to get him to sit up.
'It's not that I don't want it dude, it's just that we can't. It's wrong dude'
He could see the passionate argument already beginning to form in the redhead's mind, and he interrupted before he could be subjected to Kyle Broflovski's Rant on People's Opinion on Homosexual Relations. Again.
'Not because it's two guys. Just because the two guys are us, Ky. You're my best friend-'
'Super best friend' Kyle corrected automatically
'Super best friend then' Stan agreed 'But I'm getting married in a month, dude. You're my best man. How am I supposed to watch Wendy walk up the aisle in her pretty white, made-of-sustainable-fabric dress if I know that the man stood two feet away from me, who I trust with my life, let me slip up when I needed him to be strong for me, because his asshole of an ex decided to fuck some skank?'
Stan's voice was shaking as his eyes started to fill up with salt water that threatened to spill over at any time. It pained Kyle to see him like this, having always looked up to his super best friend as being the strong one, despite his pussy emo tendencies sometimes.
'Stan' Kyle's voice was gentle 'I'm sorry too, it's the whole Kenny thing messing with my mind and... Fuck, you're getting married dude! Then there'll be little Stan-Wendy hybrids running around South Park, yelling at people for not recycling and writing shitty songs all the time. Everything's changing, and I don't want to lose you. This was my fault, and I'll tell Wendy that if you want me to'
A hint of a smile graced Stan's face as he sat up
'Nothing's gonna change Kyle, we're gonna be super best friends until your diabetes and anger management issues finally kill you'
Kyle scowled at him 'Set the game up again, I'm gonna go order a pizza. Kinda hungry, and I wouldn't want my blood sugar to drop and kill me'
Stan just grinned at him, grabbing the controller from where it had fallen on the floor during their 'bonding time'. He wasn't feeling guilty, which was probably bad, but he chalked it up to the many times he and Kyle had drunkenly made out at high school parties. They meant nothing to either of them, and neither should this. Besides, Wendy would forgive him in a heartbeat if he ever told her – her famous childhood temper had cooled considerably as she'd grown older, as she and Stan had grown closer together. No, Stan thought contentedly, nothing's changed. In four weeks, he'd be watching his beautiful bride glide down the aisle as he shared a beaming smile with his super best friend. Things were as they should be.


Two doors down from the bedroom, Kyle Broflovski was clutching at the bathroom sink and glaring at his tousled reflection as tears glistened in his eyes. Tonight had been his last chance to change things, to finally break out of the box he'd been packed into in Stan's mind, the one labelled 'Super Best Friend'. His final chance to show Stan his true feelings. To admit that Kenny wasn't a cheater at all, but their relationship hadn't worked because of the pathetic fact that Kenny's eye colour was just a few shades too light, that the only bit of his hair Kyle had ever hung onto was the self-dyed black streak.
'Kyle?' Stan's voice called from the bedroom 'Don't forget the coke, yeah?'
'Yeah, course' he called back; glad the catch in his voice wasn't noticeable.
He faced himself in the mirror one last time, splashing his face with cold water as he made a promise to himself, to his reflection, to let go of the past, to forgive himself for the desperate attempts to win over his best friend. With dull, sad eyes, he turned away from the mirror and called out to Stan, his voice regaining its strength as his resolve settled,
'What do you want on your pizza, asshat?'